•V 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Fate  and  I 

And  Other  Poems 


THIS  EDITION,    SIGNED  BY  THE  AUTHOR, 

is  LIMITED 
To  Two  HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY  NUMBERED  COPIES 

OF    WHICH     THIS     IS 


Ittom&et. 


FATE     AND     I 

AND     OTHER     POEMS 

By 
Gerda  Dalliba 


THE  GRAFTON  PRESS 
NEW    YORK 


COPYRIGHT, 


THE     GRAFTON     PRESS 


PS 
3^07 


TO 

MY    FRIEND 

MRS.    ELLA    WHEELER    WILCOX 

THIS    LITTLE    VOLUME 

IS    GRATEFULLY 

DEDICATED 


OBRARY 


CONTENTS 

P»ge 

Fate  and  I  n 

Strength  12 

Sorrow  14 

Love  15 

To  Keats — A  Sonnet  16 

Rain  17 

A  Sea  Myth  18 

Rondeau   Redouble  35 

Villanelie  37 

A   Prayer  to  Orithvia  38 

On  the  Death  Mask  of  a  Poet  40 

A  Night  in  the  Michigan  Wild  41 

"Yesterday  and  To-morrow  Morn"  47 

A    Feeling  49 
Would'st  Thou  Speak  to  Me,  Bright  Day?    50 

Woman  51 

A  Secret — A  Sonnet  52 

Fall  53 

A  Mood  55 

A  Sonnet  56 

A  Ballad  57 

The   Moon  and  the  World  70 

A  Child — A  Tale  in   Rhyme  72 


Fate  and  I 

OH,  you  and  I,  Fate,  are  two  gods,  I  trow! 
You,  god  of  the  future,  and  I,  of  now. 
I  watch  to-night,  with  a  fair  delight, 
Over  the  mountains  the  waning  light. 
Yet,  when  the  day-beams  stronger  grow, 
It  is  you,  yourself,  who  may  lay  me  low  ! 

Oh,  you  and  I,  Fate,  are  two  gods,  two  kings  ! 
And  Life  is  the  spoil  for  which  each  flings 
The  royal  strain  of  his  purple  blood — 
Like  in  a  wood,  a  panting  flood 
O'er  the  wild  woodlands  leaps  its  way — 
I  with  to-night,  and  you  with  to-day  ! 

And  yet,  as  I  watch  in  the  spring  sky  warm 
The  brooding  heat  of  a  thunder  storm, 
Nor  ever  fear  t'will  not  disappear : 
So  I  hold  you  calmly,  though  close  and  near ! 
And,  as  deep  mosses  within  a  stream, 
To-night  I  lie  by  myself — and  dream. 


Strength 


WE  cannot  all  be  noble,  Yet  I  ween, 
We  all  can    have    the    strength  that 

Atlas  bore, 

And  hold  the  Earth  securely  on  our  arm. 
They  cry  to  me  :  "  God's  will  be  done," — they 
Of  little  strength,  but  of  tremendous  faith. 
And  with  lips  clenched  to  bleeding,  I  reply: 
"  God's  will  be  done." 

Yet  I  have  little  faith : 

It  seems  to  me,  the  tide  has  moments  when 
It  palpitates  between  the  silver  sands 
And  the  deep  bodied  bosom  of  the  sea. 
So  palpitates  the  soul  'tween  life  and  death. 
We  die  more  often  than  we  think.     Upon 
Each  passion  we  are  laid  a  limped  corpse ; 
And  are  reborn  to  Earth  alone  in  Thought ; 
And  strength  grows  in  us  as  the  ruddy  will 
Keeps  emotions  back  from  outward  show, 
Pulls  a  smile  across  the  face — and  says  : 
"  I'm  happy  !  See,  I'm  smiling  !   I  can  take 
Thy  care  unto  me,  as  a  summer  plant 
Absorbs  the  moisture  from  the  atmosphere. 


12 


My  heart  a  canvas  is:   take  thou  and  paint 
In  thine  own  shade.     My  soul's  a  viol :   play 
Thy  music  out  upon  me,  and  rejoice ! 
I'm  strong — for  what  I  feel  thou  shall  not  know." 


Sorrow 


i 


SAW  a  woman  bend  her  head 
Over  a  grave  beneath  a  tree. 
Woman,  I  know  thy  love  is  dead  ! 
But  still  my  love  is  dead  to  me. 


I  saw  her  lift  a  small  white  hand, 
And  pass  it  slow  across  her  eye. 

Woman — I  know — I  understand — 

Yet  mourn  we  most  for  those  who  die  ? 

I  saw  her  fix  with  tender  care 

Flowers,  with  fragrance  resting  deep. 

Woman — there  are  no  flowers  there 
Where  my  love  lies,  and  fell  to  sleep  ! 

And  suddenly  I  saw  and  heard 

A  red-breast  robin  come  that  way, 

And — Oh  my  God  !   There  is  no  bird, 
Where  rests  my  love,  to  wake  the  day  ! 

Ah  !  woman,  can'st  thou  ever  know, 
'Mid  memories  and  grasses  tall, 

That  in  my  heart  my  love  did  grow 
Alone — and  died  there  ?  That  is  all ! 


H 


Love 


L 


OVE  was  born  of  a  thought,  and  a  passion, 
Down  in  the    Heart-world,  far  away  ; 
Beneath   the  sweep   of    the    Earth  and 

Ocean — 
Beating  upon  it  night  and  day ! 


Beneath  the  sky,  where  God's  hand  trembled 
Dragging  the  planets  into  place. 

Beneath  the  court,  where  Heaven  assembled, 
Seraph  and  Saint  to  see  its  face. 

And  all  the  universe  coming  in  terror 
Gazed  upon  it — but  named  it  good. 

God  baptized  it,  and  freed  it  from  error, 
Giving  its  charge  unto  maidenhood. 


To  Keats — A  Sonnet 

I    THOUGHT,  in  the  vast  shade  of  yonder 
tree, 

Endymion  lay,  upon  his  floweret  bed — 
As  o'er  the    darkening  meadow  and  the  sea 
The  young  moon  rose  triumphant  overhead. 
And  then  you  came,  Keats, came  straight  unto  me, 
With  all  your  sweet  perplexity  of  tone — 
Of  what  in  dreamland  distant  far  might  be, 
And  what  upon  this  earth  was  felt  and  known. 
I  wonder  if  you  find  now  what  you  sought, 
And  languished  for,  and  found  not  and  so  died  ? 
No  grand  philosophy  of  deed,  or  thought, 
Was  yours — Your  ideals  were  the  ones  that  hide 
Behind  the  clouds — the  romances  God  wrought, 

O          * 

To  set  within  the  spheres  where  saints  abide  ! 


16 


Rain 

THERE  are  tear-drops  on  the  window  pane! 
Who  is  weeping  ?   Heaven — 
What  from  thee  can  be  withheld  ? 
What  grief  unto  thee  given  ? 


A  Sea  Myth 


TO    

A  I,  many  a  song  has  been  tuned  to  the  harp, 
With  network  of  silvery  rhyme. 
Through  the  modulations  of  flat  and  sharp, 
You  may  hear  the  heart-beat  of  time. 
Ah,  many  a  poet  has  dared  to  part, 

The  rose  from  its  Southern  clime, 
And  place  an  icicle  next  its  heart, 

In  singing  a  song  sublime. 
And  though  the  Sea  has  been  lost  in  its  foam, 

I  dare  to  sing  of  the  Sea — 
And  then  my  fancy  wandering  home, 
Has  brought  back  my  verse  to  thee. 

I 

Under  Euboea's  isle, 
Under  Jupiter's  smile, 
Under  the  Earth — God's  wile, 
Making  triumph  and  trial, 

The  home  of  Neptune  rests  in  turbulent  seas. 
The  waves  beat  on  the  shore 
Of  Earth  that  Heaven  bore 
Upon  its  breast  of  yore, 

Yet  knoweth  not  of  Ocean's  mysteries. 


II 

Waves  are  foamed  in  white 
On  a  summer's  night ; 

They  mould  themselves  in  shapes  of  young  half 
moons. 

Before  the  Sun  departed 

And  Earth  was  broken-hearted, 
It  shone  there  with  full  glory  at  its  noons. 

Ill 

Yet  the  deep  of  green 
That  is  seldom  seen 
Lies  laced  in  between, 

The  surface  Sea,  and  its  endless,  fathomless  bed. 
And  there  the  mermaids  fair, 
With  floating  sea-swept  hair, 

Still  lull  the  drowned  with  songs  that  please  the 
dead. 

IV 

Under  the  Earth  and  Sky, 
Under  fair  Greece's  eye, 
Homes  of  the  Sea-Gods  lie, 

As  oft  in  times  of  Greek  supremacy  olden. 
In  under  the  white  foam's  breast, 
In  under  the  green  lights  pressed, 
Where  the  surge  has  sunk  to  rest, 

In  under  Euboea,  Neptune's  palace  is  golden. 

19 


V 

Golden  palaces, 

Golden  lattices, 

Golden  trellices, 
And  yet,  a  golden  throne  for  Neptune's  seat. 

With  golden  courts  below 

Where  mystic  mermaids  show 
All  of  their  woman  part,  with  beauty  sweet. 

VI 

Golden  chairs  for  queens, 

Nymphs  of  stately  miens, 
Upon  whose  faces  fair  the  monarch  looks, 

With  Spirit-Solitudes 

There  stolen  from  their  woods 
And  from  their  distant  rivers,  lakes,  and  brooks. 

VII 

Lights  that  tinted  strange, 

With  an  opal's  range 
Of  colors,  habitate  the  watery  way. 

And  yet  they  are  the  sprites 

That  ship-men  see  by  nights, 
And  they  who  sleep,  and  find  their  rest  by  day. 


20 


VIII 

Mosses  deep,  unseen, 

Old,  and  yet  as  gieen 
As  verdant  meadows  under  soft  spring  skies. 

And  some  like  yellow  grains, 

Where  the  young  harvest  reigns 
In  tinted  orange  and  in  golden  dyes. 

IX 

Shells  with  voices  sent 

From  the  reeds  that  blent 

Pan  to  merriment, 
As  when  from  out  the  woods  he  laughing  ran ; 

And  yet,  with  pensive  strain, 

Where  wilful  nymphs  complain — 

And  of  a  great  love-pain 
Born  to  creation,  when  the  world  began. 

X 

Phosphorescent  plants, 

Clammy  cold  sea-damps, 
And  all  the  pungent  life  that  Nature  breeds 

Where  men  can  never  know, 

And  where  the  poets  go    . 
Alone  when  thitherward  a  soft  dream  leads. 

21 


XI 

Gorgons  with  icy  glance 

Frozen  within  a  trance 
To  motionless  inertion  doomed  to  stand 

Like  now,  on  sea-shore  capes, 

The  snow  is  piled  in  shapes 
Of  livid  monsters,  by  the  Ice  King's  hand. 

XII 

Sirens,  singing  sweet 

Melodies,  full  meet 
For  lover's  bowers,  under  fair  moon-beam ; 

And  yet  whose  perfumed  breath 

From  roseate  lips  means  death 
To  those  who  listen  to  their  song — and  dream. 

XIII 

Harpies,  woman-eyed, 

Looking  wan  and  wide, 

Yet  forever  tied 
To  foul  bird-bodies,  claw,  and  flapping  wing — 

And  every  creature  there, 

Both  horrible  and  fair, 

That  the  deep  waters  bear 
Where  they  upon   the   Seashore's  bosom  fling. 

22 


XIV 

In  the  spacious  hall 

Where  the  shades  would  fall 

Covering  over  all — 
If  haply  the  v/arm  Sun  were  there  to  die — 

Bright-blue  lights  from  the  wave 

Had  colored  all  the  cave 
Where  Proteus  and  Triton  sat  on  high. 

XV 

Poloyphemus — wide, 

Heavy,  tired-eyed — 

Sat  by  Glaucus'  side 
While  they  held  converse  there  somewhat  apart; 

When  suddenly  there  came 

A  flash  of  greenish  flame 
That  lit  the  cave  and  shivered  every  heart. 

XVI 

Amphitrite  the  pure 

Hung  her  head  demure 
On  Neptune's  knee,  and  trembled  with  affright; 

For  it  was  Circe  there, 

But  her  wild  look  was  fair, 
For  she  had  banished  Scylla,  the  past  night. 


XVII 

Now  the  afternoon 

Lulled  the  cave  with  droon 
Of  heavy  waves  that  roared  on  and  on, 

When  Neptune  rose  with  state, 

And  for  his  bridal-mate 
Took  from  the  deep  a  regal  sapphire  crown; 

XVIII 

Placing  the  shimmering  band, 

With  his  feeble  hand, 
Upon  her  head,  while  crimson  was  her  face  ; 

And  every  eye  was  cast 

And  fixed  firm  and  fast 
Upon  the  wonder  of  her  perfect  grace. 

XIX 

Sea-Gods  standing  there 
Felt  their  wild  hearts  stir 
Gazing  straight  at  her, 

Who  long  ago  had  come  from  out  the  West, 
When  Neptune's  monarchy 
Had  threatened  all  the  Sea — 
Not  yielding  quietly 

Unto  his  sway  upon  the  waters  pressed. 

24 


XX 

For  in  Cronus'  reign, 

Ere  the  Gods  were  slain, 
By  Neptune — Plato — Jupiter — the  three 

Great  sons  who  stole  away 

Their  Father's — Cronus' — sway, 
Oceanus  ruled  all  the  boundless  Sea. 

XXI 

Oceanus  old, 

Hoary  Tethys  cold, 

Pontus  there,  the  bold, 
Then  dwelt  beyond  the  bound'ries  of  the  Earth 

Within  a  western  cave, 

And  felt  a  tidal  wave 

Upon  their  Kingdom  lave 
Of  the  old  Dynasty,  with  Neptune's  birth. 

XXII 

Nereus  there  wed — 
Though  on  a  sea-bed — 
Doris,  a  nymph,  who  bred 

Fifty  fair  daughters  to  the  dying  race  ; 
And  one  was  as  a  dream, 
With  golden  hair  a-stream, 
And  soft,  fair  eyes  a-beam — 

And  the  new  East-God  gazed  upon  her  face. 

25 


XXIII 

For  upon  a  day, 
Now  long  passed  away, 
Winds  and  waves  astray 

Swept  o'er  the  land  that  kills  the  setting  Sun. 
And  where  the  nights  are  found 
And  on  the  drear  Earth  bound, 
There  rose  a  battle  sound 

Of  Neptune's  arms,  and  the  old  reign  was  done. 

XXIV 

Far  from  out  the  East, 

Like  a  frenzied  beast, 
The  monarch  Neptune  rode  full  wrathfully, 

With  dolphins  golden-maned 

And  iron-hoofed,  and  trained 
To  bear  the  royal  chariot  o'er  the  Sea ; 

XXV 

While  the  Earth  upreared 
Forest-locks,  and  feared 
For  her  far  lands  that  neared 

The  bound'ries  of  her  furthest  western  coasts: 
For  with  vast  Time,  that  goes, 
New  Gods  will  rise — and  rose, 
And  fierce  with  battle  throes 

Upon  the  old,  who  seemed  like  withered  ghosts. 
26 


XXVI 

And  the  myriad  throng 

Pass  like  notes  along 

In  Progression's  song, 
Sung  through  the  age-chords,  and  by  parting  life. 

Each  God  with  his  libation 

The  rise  of  each  new  nation, 

Each  man  (a  whole  creation) 
That  born — gives  birth  and  dies  within  the  strife. 
XXVII 

On  that  day  now  set 

In  the  amulet 
Of  the  dead  past,  Neptune  had  fought  the  throne 

Of  the  old  Dynasty 

For  the  supremacy 

Across  the  boundless  sea, 

And  then  proclaimed  both  East  and  West  his  own. 
XXVIII 

On  the  last  blue  line 

Of  the  western  brine, 

Marked  straight  and  fine, 
There  rose  a  low  cry  as  of  agony. 

For  while  the  old  Gods  fought 

They  still  were  overwrought 

By  the  vast  strength  and  thought 
Of  Neptune  of  the  Younger  Dynasty. 
27 


XXIX 

By  Neptune's  trident  hand 
Unyielding  Fate  did  stand, 
With  a  firm  command 

Upon  her  lips,  and  new  thought  in  her  eyes  ; 
And  perchance  the  old  Gods  saw 
That  they  must  now  withdraw, 
Or  only  felt  the  law 

Of  withered  flesh  upon  their  cheeks  and  thighs. 

XXX 

But  the  victor — he 
Paused  suddenly — 

A  daughter  of  Nereus  old  stood  there  ; 

'Twas  she  who  was  the  dream, 
With  her  fair  eyes  a-beam 
And  her  gold  hair  a-stream, 

And  mosses  caught  upon  her  shoulders  bare. 

XXXI 

From  his  chariot  far 

Like  a  shooting  star 
Descended  he  to  where  dull  waters  rise, 

And  dripping  from  the  foam 

He  raised  her — bore  her  home — 
The  starlight  playing  in  his  wayward  eyes. 

28 


XXXII 

Now,  the  afternoon 
Lulled  the  cave  with  droon 

Of  heavy  waves  and  blue  and  emerald  light  ; 
And  the  long  years  had  sped 
Fast  o'er  their  bridal-bed  ; 

And  waved  the  shadows  of  each  happy  night, 

XXXIII 

Since  upon  that  day, 

Now  long  passed  away, 

Winds  and  waves  astray 
Swept  o'er  the  land  that  kills  the  setting  Sun  ; 

And  he  the  old  Gods  fought, 

And  them  had  overwrought, 
And  his  own  prize,  fair  Amphitrite,  had  won 

XXXIV 

While  the  sapphire  crown 
Brilliancy  shot  down 

Of  long  blue  shadows  on  the  fair  girl's  form, 
And  Juno's  peacock  dyes 
Still  glistened  from  her  eyes, 

And  on  her  cheeks  swift  raged  the  crimson  storm. 

29 


XXXV 

Now,  where  fields  are  held, 
And  the  forests  felled 

Clean  by  the  axe,  and  small  birds  winged  to  nest, 
Sang  out  a  sunset  bell, 
And  the  wild  shadows  fell 
With  the  fond  Sun's  farewell ; 

And  all  the  meadow-workers  sought  their  rest. 

XXXVI 

Underneath  the  lands 

Where  Euboea  stands, 
The  dew-time  fell,  but  with  no  outward  show, 

And  there  waves  resonant, 

And  green  and  blue  and  constant, 
Still  beat  with  steady,  wailing,  ceaseless  flow 

XXXVII 

Then  with  the  dying  day, 

Sea-Gods  stole  away — 

The  River-Gods,  and  Nymphs  of  Fountains — 
Naiads, 

To  depths  below,  above — 

Sang  sweet  unto  her  love 
Fair  Amphitrite,  beneath  the  rising  Pleiads. 

3° 


Song  of  JCmpbitrite  to 
"  I  am  the  growing-one 
Born  of  the  Flowing-One  ; 
Over  the  glowing-one 
I  sweep  my  long  hair. 
In  the  East  tremblingly, 
Faltering  and  musically, 
With  low  head  bendingly, 
I  kiss  Neptune  there. 

u  Born  in  the  western  cave, 
Deep,  I  my  bosom  lave 
Deep  in  the  briny  wave, 
To  make  it  gleam  white. 
I  command  the  waves'  roaring, 
The  large  Sea-gulls'  soaring — 
But  all  this  ignoring, 
I  bend  to  thy  sight. 

"  The  mystic  revealing 
Of  infinite  feeling 
Upon  me  is  stealing, 
Oh  Neptune!   Oh   King! 
The  wild  ruby's  burning 
To  dull  red  is  turning, 
Beside  the  all-yearning, 
That  I  to  thee  bring. 

3' 


u  The  unsteady  motion 
Of  old  Father  Ocean 
Bringeth  no  notion- 
Of  glory — of  space. 
Upon  thy  heart  lying, 
Upon  thy  lips  sighing, 
Oh  Neptune  !  and  dying, 
I  bury  my  face  !  " 

XXXVIII 

Far,  as  in  a  dream, 

O'er  sea  and  lake  and  stream 

The  moon  rose ;  over  town  and  lane  and  field  ; 
And  unto  babes  new-born, — 
Old  people,  tired,  worn, — 

A  soft  beneficence  its  rays  did  yield. 

XXXIX 

But  below — below — 

Where  the  waters  flow, 

With  their  ripples  slow, 
In  silver  on  the  dark  heart  of  the  deep, 

Pure  Amphitrite's  fair  charm 

Lay  on  the  hoary  arm 
Of  her  King  Neptune,  who  did  soundly  sleep. 

32 


XL 

High  within  a  tower 

Swung  the  midnight  hour 
From  off  a  church-clock  on  village  green  ; 

And  far  into  the  night, 

As  souls  in  search  of  light, 
The  steeples  in  the  sky  did  rise  and  lean. 

XLI 

But,  Oh  the  briny  foam 

And  crested  wave,  where  roam 
The  tossed  wrecks  of  broken  ships  once  sailed  ! 

The  North  wind  reaching  far 

To  South,  from  polar  star, 
Upon  th'  infinite  breast  of  Ocean  wailed. 

XLII 

In  the  spacious  cave, 

Underneath  the  wave, 
The  anxious  Sea-Queen  turned  from  side  to  side, 

Fair  Amphitrite,  the  pure. 

And  what  hath  woke  thee  ?   "  Sure 
Thy  monarch  sleepeth  well  beneath  the  tide." 


33 


XLIII 

Tears  fell  from  her  face — 
What  a  fair,  wondrous  grace 

There  is  in  weeping!  Quiet  lay  he  there, 
While  o'er  his  wayward  beard, 
And  long,  and  strong,  and  seared, 

Her  sweet  lips  fell,  and  on  his  brow  and  hair. 

XLIV 

On  the  bounteous  Earth 

Fair  Morn  had  her  birth 
In  regal  splendor  of  a  Sun's  fresh  grace, 

That  in  the  sky  was  bound. 

Upon  the  Earth  was  found 
The  dew,  and  light  upon  the  mountains'  face. 

XLV 

But  under  the  Sea 

Lay  a  stern  mystery — 
The  monarch  there  raised  not  his  lordly  head. 

Upon  his  body  prone 

Lay  Amphitrite  alone — 
She  wept  her  love — her  Neptune — who  was  dead. 


34 


Rondeau  Redouble 

THERE  is  no  strong  yet  unfulfilled  desire, 
Thought  is  the  Slave  of  Mind,  and 

Dream  of  Soul, 

The  Heart  is  master  of  its  burning  fire, 
And  these  three  monarchs  have  supreme 
control. 

Within  all  spheres  there  is  no  mystic  goal 
To  which  sane  complex  Thought  cannot 
aspire — 

All  Ages  unto  progress  hand  their  scroll  : 
There  is  no  strong  yet  unfulfilled  desire. 

Sweet  Dream  need  use  no  artifice  t'  attire 
Drear  Life  in  beauteous  garb.     Her  aureole 

Will  lend  the  pale  face  a  celestial  fire — 
Thought  is  the  Slave  of  Mind,  and  Dream 
of  Soul. 

The    emotional    Heart,   it    is    still    great  and 

whole; 

Its  own  musician,  it  can  wake  the  lyre 
Of   yearning,  where    the    mighty   tone-waves 

roll,— 
The  Heart  is  master  of  its  burning  fire. 

35 


The  Heart,  the  Mind,  the  Soul,  they  are  entire 
Rulers  of  joy.     The  Heart,  the  Mind,  the 

Soul ; 
For  they  shall  ever  reach  toward  something 

higher : 

And  these  three  monarchs  have  supreme 
control. 

And  they  were  monarchs  when  the  body  stole 

Into  existence,  and  did  strength  acquire. 
And  they  are  monarchs  when  the  grand  bells 

toll 

A  lingering  farewell  o'er  the  funeral  pyre. 
They  have  no  unfulfilled  desire. 


36 


Villanelle 


u 


PON  my  heart  my  lady  lies, 
Her  hair  is  blown  across  my  cheek, 
And  blinded  are  my  tearless  eyes. 


Oh  God  !  a  voice  within  me  cries, 

My  sinking  breast  has  grown  but  weak; 

Upon  my  heart  my  lady  lies  ! 

Vain  are  all  prayers,  and  wishing  sighs, 
u  Her  hair  forbids  my  lips  to  speak." 
And  blinded  are  my  tearless  eyes. 

The  strong  resistance  in  me  dies, 
Before  her  face  my  soul  is  meek — 
Upon  my  heart  my  lady  lies. 

Her  mouth  that  burns  upon  me  tries 

My  love  to  agony  to  pique, 

And  blinded  are  my  tearless  eyes. 

Dear  rhapsody  of  rhapsodies, 
Dear  Heaven  that  I  dared  not  seek, 
Upon  my  heart  my  lady  lies, 
\nd  blinded  are  my  tearless  eyes  ! 


37 


A  Prayer  to  Orithyia 

(4  Ballad) 

TIS  Aquilo  in  the  tree, 
Beauteous  maiden  list  and  hear  ! 
For  he  doth  sing  heart  feelingly 
To  a  fair  one  he  loves  dear. 
Beauteous  maiden  lend  an  ear 
To  his  wild  love's  northern  strain, 
Grave,  impassioned,  and  austere; 
Full  of  anger,  full  of  pain  ! 

Hear  the  wild  blast :  it  is  he  ! 
Feel  the  snowflake  :   'tis  his  tear! 
'Tis  his  yearning  strife  for  thee. 
At  the  tempest  have  no  fear, 
'Tis  thy  lover's  wooing,  dear: 
Madness  he  cannot  restrain — 
Grave,  impassioned,  and  austere ; 
Full  of  anger,  full  of  pain  ! 

Orithyia,  glorious  is  his  plea, 
Decked  in  language  harsh  and  drear, 
And  not  fit  the  garb  to  be 
Of  his  love,  at  least  sincere. 
In  an  iceberg  atmosphere 
Grows  a  powerful  hurricane — 
Grave,  impassioned,  and  austere ; 
Full  of  anger,  full  of  pain  ! 

38 


(Entop 

Emotion,  nymph,  thou  can'st  revere, 
Though  return  not,  nor  retain  : 
Grave,  impassioned,  and  austere; 
Full  of  anger,  full  of  pain  ! 


39 


On  the  Death  Mask  of  a  Poet 

FEATURES  dead  with  mouth  forever 
Silent  as  a  frozen  river. 
Lips  that  never  wake,  nor  quiver — 
Never  more  with  life's  light,  never. 

Sunken  cheek,  and  brow  projecting, 
O'er  the  great  Mind's  heart,  reflecting 
On  the  future,  and  expecting 
Death  which  now  upon  it  lies  ! 
Lips  where  unrepressed  Desire 
Built  herself  an  altar-fire, 
Rising  ever  higher — higher — 
Only  satiate  with  the  skies  ! 

Straight  and  aquiline  and  slender 
Nostrils  that  revibrate — tender — 
All  the  fine  emotions  render, 
That  pass  in  and  through  the  Soul. 
Chin,  that  if  the  dead  were  risen, 
Would  denote  a  large  precision, 
Which  would  conquer  world  or  vision 
Through  the  vastness  of  control. 

Eye-brows  great  and  massive,  lying 
On  the  forehead.     Eye-balls  trying 
To  express  the  bosom's  sighing, 
When  the  poet  suffered  dying. 

40 


A  Night  in  the  Michigan  Wild 


H 


I  ID  within  the  deep  wood  of  a  Michigan 

wild 
I  have  seen  a  small  river  couched  down 

like  a  child 
At  the  foot  of  great  pine  trees  which,  stretching 

above, 

Pay  the  sky,  as  the  river  prays  them,  for  its  love. 
And  upon  that  small   river  bank,  winding  and 

bending 
Amid  pine  trees,  and  fir  trees,  and  beech  never 

ending, 
The  wild  roses  are  clustered,  and  sunbeams  are 

too, 
And    the    shadows    of   night    fall     majestically 

through 
The  joined  branches,  and  touch  it !      Ah  wait ! 

Let  me  try 
To  describe  that  weird  scene,  where  the  North 

beauties  lie. 

Here  the  dome   of  the  heavens  is  deeper  and 

clearer, 
And  yet,  even  the  grey  of  the  dull  days  bends 

nearer 

41 


The   world   here,  than  within  the  soft  tropical 

South ; 

And  still  further  away  at  the  wide  river's  mouth 
The  North  skies  and  the  waters  have  met,  and 

the  still 

Of  their  passion-embrace  is  not  broken,  until 
The  fond  wind  has  at  last  found  the  long  finger 

tips 
Of  the   trees   and  then  presses   them   with  its 

moist  lips. 
And   still  looking  to  landward,  the  far  rugged 

haze 

Of  the  higher  hills  rises  upon  one's  rapt  gaze, 
That  will  shroud  with  the  veil  of  the  soft  morn 
ing  mist 
All  the  bright  inland  lakes  at  their  feet,  and  will 

list 
To  the  break   of  their  waters   upon  their  own 

brink, 
While  wild  roses  grow  redder  and  redder,  and 

sink 
'Neath  the  blushing  within  their  calm,  fair  river 

glass 

At   the  beauty   they    see    in    themselves.      But 
alas  ! 


42 


That  the    ferns   must   be  hid  in  their  close  and 

wild  wood, 

Which  alone  for  the  past  generations  have  stood 
All  unseen  in  their  hermit-like  silence,  austere 
And  unchanged  in  the  Spring  and  the  cold  dying 

year. 

A  dull,  dark  night  had  come  to  the  river,  as  fast 
As  if  one  might  be  watching  a  round  sun  full 

past 
Its  burnt  horizon  waning,  and  ah  !    one  might 

feel 

One  had  entered  the  heart  of  all  nature's  ideal ! 
While  adown   the  stream's  current,  a  bark-boat 

was  drifting 

Slow,  because  the  monotonous  sound  of  uplifting 
And  the  dropping  of  oars  on  the  surface  was 

still, 

And  the  tide  of  the  river  bore  it,  by  its  will, 
On  and  on,  to  the  great  Lake  Superior — where 
It  still  mingles  with  waters  so  deep  from  the  air, 
That  one  hardly  can  feel  their  immensity,  while 
In  their  calm  on  the  shore  they  may  ripple  and 

smile. 
And  yet  slow,  slow,  but  constantly  moving  along, 


43 


The  bark-boat  and  the  strong  tide  were  drifting 

with  song 

Of  the  evening — to  where  hid  away  in  the  deep 
Of  the  distance  and  dark,  the  great  lake  lay 

asleep. 

Now  the  woods,  even   pine  trees,  and  fir  trees, 

seemed  more 
Rich   and    luminous    far,  on    the   great   waters' 

shore — 
And  one  dreaded,  yet  longed    for  that   darkness 

and  gloom, 
As  the  soul  of  man  dreads  and  yet  longs   for 

the  tomb. 

The  prow  was  straight  set,  and  the  roses  and  light 
Of  the  evening  far  back  were  forgotten  in  night — 
Yet  the  girl  in  the  boat,  with  her  finely  poised  ear, 
Tho'  her  soul  was  far  sent  into  dreamland, 

could  hear 
A    wild    music — for    music    was    rising — from 

where  ? 
From   the  great   reaching   dark,  and   the  night 

and  the  air — 

And  a  music  that  blended  so  much  with  the  scene, 
That  its  harmonies  flowed  forth  in  dark  and  in 

green 

44 


Of  the  far-stretching  forests,  with  rolling  chords 

flung 
From  the  region  of  mystery,  whence  they  were 

sprung — 

Till  at  last  it  grew  calmer  and  sweeter — so  sweet 
That  an  angel  in  listening  might  hear  the  heart 

beat 

Of  a  love  in  its  tone,  as  if  losing  the  sound 
It  had  lost  the  weird  wail  of  the  darkness,  and 

found 
All   the  quiet   of   Heaven — where   souls   being 

free 
Will  sing  ever — sing  always — from  mere  ecstacy! 

And  yet  then — and  as  if  with  a  pitying  thought — 
In  a  cloud  of  soft  melody — back  it  had  brought 
The  girl's  soul  unto  earth — with  no  too  harsh  a 

tone : 

The  melodious  minor,  the  soft  wind  hath  blown 
O'er  the  face  of  the  flowers — before  the  white 

snow 
Of  the  winters  will  come,  and  the  dear  summers 

go— 
And  yet 


45 


It  was  only  a  Heavenly  scene, 
With  the  large  night  hung  close,  like  a  mist  veil, 

between ; 

And  the  music  was  only  the  heard,  clearer  part 
Of   th'    unrealized    yearnings    within  her  own 

heart. 
Then    the  maiden  awoke,  while  the  bark-boat 

went  on, 
Out  of  night,  out  of  forest — and  into  the  dawn ! 


"Yesterday  and  To-morrow 
Morn" 

TWO     daughters    to    old    Time    are 
born — 

Yesterday  and  To-morrow  Morn  ; 
And  their  Mother  is  To-day. 
(One  wears  a  garment  new  and  gay, 
And  the  other  old  and  torn.) 

For  before  the  world  began, 

And  the  Earth  had  dreamt  of  Man, 

In  a  region  far  away, 

Father  Time  had  wed  To-day 

In  meadows  soft  where  fair  brooks  ran. 

And  she  never  leaves  his  side, 
She  his  old  and  faithful  bride, 
Tho'  his  hoary  locks  grow  young, 
When  the  daylight  has  begun, 
Till  the  misty  even-tide. 

But  the  years  are  going  fast, 
And  the  Future  and  the  Past 
Are  the  wilful  children  sent, 
When  To-day  and  Time  are  blent 
In  a  union  great  and  vast. 

47 


Now  one  daughter  is  so  fair 
She  has  moon-light  in  her  hair. 
And  her  laughter  is  the  trees, 
Swaying  gently  in  the  breeze, 
Softly  waving  here  and  there! 

But  the  other  is  as  cold 

As  a  flower  growing  old, 

And  withered  in  a  damp,  dark,  shade- 

And  yet  there  is  a  perfume  made 

From  such  flowers — so  they  hold. 


A  Feeling 


A 


FEELING  is  a  rain-bow  in  the  sky 
Of  life,  where  many  tints  and  colors  vie 
And   blend,  the    whole    great    arch     to 

glorify — 


Emotions  of  the  grand  and  noble  heart, 
Planned  in  divine  and  overflowing  art, 
Each  and  yet  all  perform  their  separate  part. 

They  are  the  tints  and  colors,  many  hues 
Of  heartfelt  joys  and  griefs,  smile-shines,  tear- 
dews, 
Of  pinks  and  yellows, crimsons, and  bright-blues! 

Nor  can  God's  promise  of  no  flood  adorn 
Or  cross  the  firmament  for  us  that  mourn, 
Unless  it  be  by  colored  rain-bows  born. 

Nor  can  a  feeling  ever  be  complete, 
Unless  all  strong  emotions  join  and  meet, 
And  all  their  different  harmonies  make  sweet ! 


49 


Would'st  Thou  Speak  to  Me, 
Bright  Day? 

WOULD'ST    thou    speak  to   me, 
bright  day?- 

Me  of  griefs,  and  me  of  pains  ; 
Me,  where  all  the  heart's  soft  strains 
Sound  a  discord  on  the  ear  ? 
Hark  !   do  I  thy  voice  still  hear  ? 
Would'st  thou  speak  to  me,  bright  day  ? 

Would'st  thou  cease  thine  own  wild  play 
With  the  sun-beams,  golden  bright ; 
With  all  joy,  and  all  delight, 
With  all  gayety  and  glee  ? 
Would'st  thou  stop  to  speak  to  me  ? 
Would'st  thou  cease  thine  own  wild  play  ? 

Ah  !  Thou  speak'st ;  thy  voice  is  gay  ! 

But  I  cannot  hear  it's  tone. 

Cease  my  spirit — cease  your  moan — 

For  one  moment  silence  all : 

Let  me  listen  to  that  call — 

Ah  !   Thou  speak'st ;  thy  voice  is  gay  ! 


Woman 

COULD  woman's  heart  but  add  one  strain 
Of  strength,  still  all  its  sweet  retain, 
Its  pearly  streams  would  surely  break 
Into  a  glorious  sun-set  lake, 
Where  passion-waves  would  not  be  free, 
But  guarded,  kept  most  tenderly 
To  add  their  force  to  under-tide, 
And  make  one  feeling  grand  and  wide ! 


A  Secret — A  Sonnet 

WHAT  is  this  secret  hidden  and  concealed 
Past  all  the  days  that  wake  and  come 

and  go — 

Past  wayward  winds  that  in  the  spring-time  blow, 
And  past  the  snows  in  Winter's  heart  congealed — 
Past  sun-rise,  and  the  endless,  restless  flow 
Of  rivers  bearing  constant,  on  and  on, — 
Past  moon-rise  and  the  turbulence  of  dawn, 
Forever  breaking  on  the  world  below  ? 
Unknown  to  all  the  little  leaves  and  blooms, 
Untold  to  all  the  giant  elms  and  palms, 
Unpictured  to  the  panting  light  that  swoons 
Thro'    woods    and  forests,  reaching  to  cool 

calms ; 

Undreaming  of  the  quiet  of  the  tombs, 
It  has  within  its  breast  no  hopes — no  balms ! 


Fall 

THIS   is   the   time  when  the  old   Summer 
bendeth 

Her  head  to  receive  a  vast  crown  of  red 
gold. 
This  is  the  time  when  the  blossom  still  sendeth 

A  fragrance  that  proveth  it  dying  or  old. 
Ah,  the  soft  rain  that  the  garden  still  tendeth, 
Now    serveth    it    only    with    kisses    turned 
cold! 

This  is  the  time  when  the  grass  on  the  meadows, 
The  leaf  on  the  tree,  and  the  heat  in  the  year, 

Steal  far  far  away,  on  the  tip  of  the  shadows, 
To  waver  a  moment  and  then  disappear. 

Asters  that  seem  like  the  newly  grieved  widows 
Will  weep  their  past  loves,  with  a  ravishing 
tear. 

This  is  the  time  when  the  colors  and  blends  of 

them 
Gleam   ruddy  on  apples   from  the  morns  to 

the  eves, 
While  wild  leaves  slow  fade  to  a  brown  on  the 

ends  of  them, 

53 


And  gold  groweth   great  in  the  heart  of  the 

sheaves. 
Tired  days  wane,  with  the  burning  red  Suns  of 

them, 
Where  the  harvest  Moon  smiles  and  her  white 

bosom  heaves. 


54 


A  Mood 


c 


ALM  the  morning  falls  from  Heaven, 
Dim  and  over-spread  with  clouds, 
And  the  mountain-tops  are  driven 
Back  into  their  mists  of  shrouds. 


And  sweet  rest  is  on  the  valleys, 

Weary  of  their  swaying  grass ; 

For  the  sun  far  eastward  tarries, 
And  the  winds  no  longer  pass 

To  and  fro — but  all  are  sleeping 
Quiet  in  the  soft  gray  sky; 

And  the  peaceful  Heavens  are  weeping- 
It  would  save  my  heart,  could  I ! 


A  Sonnet 

WHAT     are     these     mad     repinings  ? — 
Promises 

Of  the  full  harvests,  of  the  golden  grain 
Of  passions,  ripened  in  the  fields  of  pain  ? 
In  vain  my  mind  my  heart  admonishes — 
The  past  is  dead ;  each  day  astonishes 
The  world  by  rising  gloomily  or  fair. 
The  sun  sinks  fire,  yet  meager  hint  is  there 
Of  what  the  Morrow's  bosom  nourishes — 
And  tho'  the  tears  may  rise  and  fall  as  fast 
As  tempest  waves  within  a  boundless  sea, 
Or  drop  the  rains  when  skies  are  over-cast, 
Still  time  is  speeding  and  unchanged  by  me. 
Then  leave  the  wayward  Future  and  the  Past; 
And  let  me  sit  and  dream  awhile — of  thee ! 


A   Ballad 


T 


HE  hour  grew  late,  the  guests  still  sate 

Around  the  bridal  board. 
The  wines  were  gone,  the  festal  song 
Had  <lied  with  its  last  chord. 

II 

The  bride  beamed  fair;  behind  her  chair 

The  groom  stood  bent  and  still. 
Up  rose  a  sire  in  war's  attire : 
"  A  story  by  thy  will!" 

Ill 

Loud  rang  the  cry  of  ecstasy. 

"  Pray  speak,"  the  fair  bride  said. 
His  face  gleamed  pale — "  I  tell  a  tale 

Of  one  who  now  is  dead." 

IV 

His  eyes  stared  strange,  they  went  the  range 

Of  space  as  sentinel's  round. 
But  as  he  broke  the  trance,  and  spoke, 

They  rested  on  the  ground. 


57 


V 

"  Thou  wert  a  child,  who  laughed  and  smiled 

With  lips  as  sweet  as  now. 
Thy  family  dwelt  by  the  sea, 
On  a  clifPs  projecting  brow. 

VI 

"  Thy  family  dwelt  by  the  sea, 

On  rocks  that  reach  the  wave. 
Thy  brothers  made  sand-wells,  and  played, 
(There  stood  thy  mother's  grave.) 

VII 

•c  Three  boys  there  were,  and  thou  the  fair  : 

One  had  a  patient  soul ; 

The  next  breathed  forth,  as  wind  from  north, 
With  power,  sweep  and  roll, 

VIII 

"  And  worked  by  hand,  o'er  fruits  of  land, 

With  honesty  and  care. 
Then  came  another,  the  last  third  brother, 
And  thou,  bright  bride,  the  fair. 

58 


IX 

Thy  next  in  age,  like  to  a  sage, 

Had  brain  of  regal  thought. 
In  wide  book-lore,  no  man  knew  more ; 

And  vast  his  heart  was  wrought. 


"  Yet  as  a  tree  that  restlessly 
Is  swayed  by  every  wind, 
Wild  fancies  took  vast  hold,  and  shook 
The  quiet  of  his  mind. 

XI 

"  He  loved  thee  well ;  thou  hast  heard  tell 

His  love,  by  passion's  flow 
Of  kisses  that  broke  on  thee  when  woke 
A  spring  bud  flaked  with  snow. 

XII 

"  But  after  the  field  rich  grain  did  yield ; 

Nor  scythe  was  worked  nor  plow  j 
With  the  dead  year  did  disappear 

Thy  brother — and  knowest  thou  how  ? 

59 


XIII 

"  O'er  this  calm  age  rash  war  did  rage 

In  lands  where  set  of  sun 
Warns  golden  bright  approach  of  night, 
When  our  day  is  begun. 

XIV 

44  The  countries  all  gave  clarion  call 

For  humanity's  stern  cause, 
To  break  the  chains  of  base  kings'  reigns, 
That  fettered  feeble  laws. 

XV 

"  I  braved  the  fight,  while  left  and  right, 

Close  pressed  in  thick  array 

The  men  fell  fast  before  the  blast 

Of  shots  that  came  our  way. 

XVI 

"  The  war  smoke  black  made  me  give  back, 

And  paused  me  for  the  night; 
Then  rushing  on,  in  blear  of  dawn, 
I  stumbled  in  my  flight, 

60 


XVII 

"  And  fell  with  wrath.     Across  my  path 

A  soldier's  body  lay. 
He  seemed  as  dead,  with  bleeding  head 
From  the  victorious  day. 

XVIII 

"  I  pressed  the  hair,  with  no  soft  care, 

From  off  the  forehead  high. 
His  limbs  were  stark,  his  eye  gleamed  dark. 
I  knew  that  death  was  nigh. 

XIX 

"  I  could  not  brook  the  searching  look 

That  from  his  eye  did  roll, 
As  unto  Death.      I  held  my  breath  ; 
It  scorched  my  very  soul. 

XX 

"  And  back  I  fell,  with  piercing  yell, 

When  lights  the  fields  did  lave. 
The  features  shone — thy  brother's  own — 
God  rest  him  in  his  grave! 


61 


XXI 

"  Now  giant  Time  three  years  sublime 

Had  marked  by  Progress'  hand, 
Ere  from  war  stern  my  heart  might  turn 
Once  more  to  its  own  land. 

XXII 

"  Shone  ocean  wide  with  moon's  fresh  pride, 

Ere  our  ship  kissed  the  quay. 
When    summer's    bloom    thrice    decked    his 

tomb 
Straight  came  I  unto  thee. 

XXIII 

"  But  tho'  I  came  and  breathed  thy  name, 

In  greeting  to  thee  here, 
I  could  not  bear  the  grief  to  stir 
For  one  thou  didst  hold  dear. 

XXIV 

"  Yet  dry  the  tear,  for  o'er  his  bier 

Vain  Glory  placed  her  rose. 
To  jubilee  add  victory 

Of  his — nor  weep  his  woes." 


62 


XXV 

Each  head  was  bent,  as  right  grief  went 

To  each  heart  with  the  tale. 
The  look  of  age  on  the  war-sage 

Grew  deep;  the  bride  grew  pale. 

XXVI 

While  the  groom's  face  had  lost  the  grace 

Of  youth  and  beauty's  glow. 
The  sage  spoke  on,  in  growing  dawn, 

The  groom's  pulse  beat  but  slow. 

XXVII 

He  held  control,  tho',  o'er  his  soul, 

As  King  o'er  subject  land, 
And  no  one  knew  how  his  veins  grew 

Great  on  the  firm  white  hand. 

XXVIII. 

The  stare  of  eye  was  his  reply 

Of  mourning  for  the  dead, 
Till  the  sweet  bride,  close  by  his  side, 

Lifted  to  him  her  head. 


XXIX 

The  tender  grace  of  her  fair  face 

Startled  the  man  in  him  ; 
His  conscience  woke,  his  deep  voice  broke 

On  day,  then  rising  dim. 

XXX 

u  Thy  brother  died.      I  by  his  side 

Had  watched  his  dying  breath; 
And  still  far  more — I  vowed  and  swore 
That  I  should  be  his  death. 

XXXI 

"  For  in  my  past,  and  hidden  fast 

As  secrets  e'er  can  be, 
There  lay  a  sin  that  entered  in 
Became  a  mystery. 

XXXII 

"  As  floods  that  run  to  Western  sun 

Sing  not  the  far  East's  song, 
So  in  my  breast  I  held  in  rest 
The  secret  of  a  wrong. 


64 


XXXIII 

"  And  yet  one  night,  by  moon's  pale  light, 

We  drank — both  he  and  I — 
At  tavern's  round,  and  there  he  found 
That  secret  I  put  by. 

XXXIV 

"  My  secret  cast  into  the  past 

Was  open  to  his  gaze, 
As  all  the  moods  of  life,  like  woods, 
Are  seen  by  fierce  fire's  blaze. 

XXXV 

"  And  then  ere  long  it  grew  a  wrong 

Upon  myself  and  thee  ; 
As  one  apart  he  judged  the  heart 
Full  kind,  that  sinned  in  me. 

XXXVI 

"  But  when  it  came,  that  thy  fair  name 

Should  wedded  be  with  mine, 
I  knew  as  brother  he  would  discover 
My  fault  to  thee  and  thine. 


XXXVII 

"  Yet,  still  I  strove,  and  went  to  rove 

At  far,  to  rise  above 
My  thoughts  of  thee,  the  agony 
To  crave  thee  for  my  love. 

XXXVIII 

"  And  then  the  war  swept  the  land  o'er; 

I  fought  with  desperate  might, 
And  in  the  blare  of  battle  air 
I  felt  my  heart  grow  light. 

XXXIX 

"  Far  hid  from  sight,  and  as  in  night 

Was  all,  yes,  all  but  smoke. 
The  sun  seemed  dead,  yet  rose  full  red 
When  through  the  line  we  broke. 

XL 

"  Right  by  my  side  stood  he  who  died — 

Thy  brother  in  its  light. 
White  gleamed  his  face  (in  hour  of  grace 
May  it  for  me  gleam  white)  ! 

66 


XL! 

"  He  stood  there  still.      My  heart  beat  till 

I  felt  it  in  my  threat ; 
For  thou  wert  mine,  if  in  the  line 
I  killed  him  (none  should  note). 

XLII 

"  But  then  from  far,  as  'twere  a  star, 

A  blaze  fell  from  the  sky. 
The  ranks  rushed  on,  and  in  the  dawn 
By  another  did  he  die. 

XLIII 

"  And  so  with  Fate,  tho'  oft  we  wait 

Thro'  weary  life  for  peace, 
From  trial  or  dread,  that  Chance  has  bred, 
'Tis  Chance  will  bring  release. 

XLIV 

"  And  I  fought  on,  out  of  the  dawn, 

With  mine  own  heart  in  me  ; 
My  battle-fire  was  my  desire 
That  yearned  yet  for  thee. 


67 


XLV 

"  My  battle-field  I  would  not  yield — 

Not  for  his  life  nor  mine — 
Was  smiles  that  play  full  blithefully 
And  on  thy  fair  lips  shine. 

XLVI 

"  My  battle  throes  were  eyes  that  rose — 

Thine  eyes  that  hung  above, 
In  mirrored  art,  o'er  my  rapt  heart ; 
My  fight  was  for  thy  love. 

XLVII 

u  And  now,  fair  bride,  here  by  my  side, 

Wilt  lay  thy  hand  in  mine  ? 
Forgive  the  wrong  that,  cleansed  long 
In  sorrow,  may  decline  ?  " 

XL  VIII 

The  guests  sate  still,  to  wait  her  will, 
To  know  her  answer  there. 

The  wines  were  gone,  and  festal  song ; 
The  groom  bent  o'er  her  chair. 


68 


XLIV 

The  tale  is  old ;  the  grain  is  gold 

At  peace  now  by  the  sea. 
The  bride  was  young ;  her  answer  sprung — 

"  Yes  !     For  thou  lovedst  me  '  " 


The  Moon  and  the  World 

A  BEAUTIFUL   Moon  rose  proudly  one 
night, 
And  looked  on  herself  with  a  pensive 

delight. 

And  the  white  of  her  skin  was  as  pure  and  soft, 
As  when  she  lay  on  the  Saviour's  loft. 
And  she  saw  from  the  deep  of  a  pool  in  a  dale, 
Where  weird  lights  glisten  and  waters  turn  pale, 
The  very  effect  of  her  loveliness,  sent 
Into  their  struggling  and  discontent 
And  sluggish  uprisings. 

And  the  Moon, 

As  she  looked  on  herself,  could  almost  swoon 
From  the  ideal  spirit-like  visage  seen 
Through  the  tangled  boughs  of  the  forests  green. 
And  she  said  to  the  World:  "You  have  grown  old! 
And  your  fast  excess  of  rotation  has  told 
Upon  you  since  you  followed  the  sun 
With  a  mad  extreme  when  the  day's  begun. 
And  even  the  springs  that  pass  over  your  heart 
Have  left  the  cold  leaves  of  the  autumn  to  start 
Under  the  feet  of  the  winters,  and  lie 
Dead  on  the  ground  where  the  snows  pass  by." 

70 


The  old  World  stopped,  and  held  her  breath, 
And  thought  on  life — and  creation — and  death  ; 
And  then  she  replied  with  the  dark  night's  moan 
To  the  beautiful  Moon  in  an  undertone: 
"  Yes,  oh  Moon  !  but  you  froze  in  your  rest ; 
While  children  sleep  sweetly  upon  my  breast." 


A  Child — A  Tale  in  Rhyme 

I 

THERE  was  once  a  little  boy's  spirit  born 
To  a  world  of  merriment  all  forlorn  ; 

For  the  beautiful  mother  God  gave  him 
Had  a  sparkling  eye  and  a  conscience  dim. 
And  when  she  saw  the  little  red  thing 
Lying  near  to  her,  without  feeling  a  sting 
Of  conscience,  she  feared  least  a  care 
Should  rob  her  of  one  golden  hair. 
And    she    frowned   on  the  lace  in    the    richly 

decked  room  ; 

And  the  fresh  flowers  there  that  were  all  abloom 
Looked  sadly  down  on  the  little  boy  sent 
Into  that  world  of  merriment. 


II 


But  the  little  boy  grew,  and  bye  and  bye 

When  a  sturdy  look  came  and  he  stood  so  high 

He  could  touch  her  bed,  the  mother  proved, 

The  doctor  advised  that  he  be  removed. 

So  in  a  nursery  kept  far  apart 

He  was  given  all  that  could  please  the  heart 

72 


Of  a  little  boy.      All  kinds  of  fair 
And  beautiful  picture  books  were  there, 
And  toys  and  sweets  of  every  kind 
To  fascinate  a  childish  mind. 
And,  tho'  the  nurse  would  often  scold, 
'Twas  better  than  the  days  of  old. 

Ill 

But  suddenly  there  came  a  day 

When  the  beautiful  toys  were  thrown  away, 

And  the  Mother  Goose  book  and  the  pictures  all 

Of  the  goblins  short  and  the  giants  tall 

Had  no  more  fantasy,  joy  nor  dread 

For  the  little  boy,  and  his  curly  head 

Lay  heavy  in  his  dimpled  hand 

With  thoughts  he  could  not  understand ; 

Until  from  out  the  dazzling  black 

Of  blinded  eyes  a  thought  came  back — 

That,  passing  by,  he  oft  had  seen 

A  dark  recess  behind  a  screen. 

IV 

And  then,  at  last,  he  knew  not  how, 
The  screen  was  pushed  aside — and  now 
He  stood  upon  a  fur-rugged  floor, 
Oblivious  of  screen  and  door, 

73 


Or  who  should  come,  or  who  should  see — 

He  stole  into  the  library  ! 

At  first  he  did  not  like  the  hue 

Of  the  dark-covered  books — so  grand  and  new, 

And  dull  and  strange  and  piled  so  high, 

He  could  not  reach  them  with  his  eye, 

Until  he  came  to  where  was  placed 

A  bookcase  filled  for  childhood's  taste. 

V 

Ah,  what  he  read!     And  all  the  hours 
Were  from  November  till  the  flowers 
Began  to  bloom  again,  and  he 
Was  deep  in  Fairy  mystery. 
He  knew  the  tale  of  every  maid 
By  some  wild  witch  or  wretch  waylaid ; 
And  then  of  all  the  charmed  knights 
Who  fought  and  helped  them  in  their  plights. 
And  so  intense  was  all  his  store 
Of  myths  and  ancient  goblin  lore, 
He  felt  and  lived  within  their  age, 
As  in  his  own  world  lives  the  sage. 

VI 

And  far,  and  far,  in  childish  dreams 

He  went  to  where  the  moonlight  streams 

74 


Upon  young  lovers,  and  a  book 
Brings  thought  into  an  old  man's  look ; 
And  in  his  own,  own  little  way 
He  pushed  the  clouds  of  life  away, 
And  saw  the  angels  in  the  sky. 
There  are  two  times  before  we  die 
When  we  can  see  far  more  than  men — 
The  first  is  childhood's  dreaming,  then 
When  we  grow  old.     But  no  one  knew 
The  strange,  weird  way  in  which  he  grew. 

VII 

But  one  night  late  the  little  boy  woke  ; 

The  bubble  force  of  a  dream  had  broke 

The  sleep  from  his  eyes,  and  a  goblin  tale 

Shone  in  them  as  the  moon  did  pale. 

And  his  hand  went  up,  and  he  rubbed  his  eyes. 

His  bed  was  placed  so  he  looked  on  the  skies, 

And  he,  gazing,  thought  the  star-beam  he  saw 

Was  a  witch's  silver  hair.      Her  claw 

Was  the  great  dark  tree.     And  a  wee  sob  came 

For   the    maid — he    could    not    remember    her 

name — 

Who  was  under  the  powerful  witch's  spell, 
And  his  head  no  more  on  the  pillow  fell. 

75 


VIII 

And  the  starlight  waned  not  nor  died  away, 
But  grew  so  bright  that  he  thought  the  day 
Was  coming  in  at  his  window.     And  soon 
The  pale,  ghost-shivering,  awe-striking  moon 
Would  grow  dim  !      So  he  waited  and  sat  as  still 
As  if  he  were  sleeping  full  soundly  until 
His  nurse  should  wake  him.      But   fairy  dreams 

came, 

And  he  did  so  wish  to  remember  the  name 
Of  that  poor,  witch-tempted,  beautiful  maid 
Of  the  fairy  tale  !      And  the  book  was  laid 
'Way,  'way  down  in  the  library — while 
He  sprang  from  his  bed  with  a  naughty  smile. 

IX 

All  was  dark  on  the  upper  stairs, 

And  by  his  wee  little  cot,  unawares, 

He  stumbled  on  the  rocking-horse  back, 

And  clutched  madly  at  its  mane  for  lack 

Of  other  support,  until  to  this  day 

You  can   see  the  place  where  the  hair's  pulled 

away. 

And  yet  his  purpose  still  did  uphold, 
As  one  often  sees  in  th'  unpolished  gold 

76 


Of  childhood  set  a  wonderful  stone 
Of  character,  dazzling  the  eye  alone  ; 
But  down  stairs  it  was  very  bright, 
And  the  library,  too,  was  lit  that  night. 

X 

And  all  was  light  in  the  parlors — all  light 
In  the  windows  resting  against  the  night ; 
And  the  flowers  there  were  as  fresh  and  green 
As   the   meadows    breed  them  'neath    morning 

sheen, 

And  the  vases  stood  tall  with  their  patterns  fair, 
And  the  spirit  of  dancing  was  on  the  air, 
And  the  great  old  chairs  of  the  family  heart 
Were  gone  from  the  salons.      In  every  part 
Naught  was  to  be  seen  of  a  family  sign 
But  women  and  men  and  costumes  fine, 
While  in  the  centre  of  all  this  stood 
The  woman  who  dreaded  motherhood. 

XI 

The  woman  who  dreaded  motherhood  smiled, 
And  the  deep,  rich  mass  of  her  long  hair  piled 
In  affected  carelessness  on  her  head, 
As  she  nodded,  let  loose  a  ringlet  as  red 
With  a  brilliant  gold  as  any  flower 
That  mellows   the  fields  within  summer's  hour. 

77 


And   everyone   said    that   her   mouth,   like   the 

moon, 
Had  a  mystical   curve   on   the  end,  and  would 

swoon 

Into  a  laugh  with  the  magical  charm 
Of  moody  midsummer  nights,  which  alarm 
By    darkness,    and     then    are    with    moonlight 

beguiled, 
While   the    woman    who    dreaded    motherhood 

smiled. 


XII 

But  the  little  boy  passed  the  parlors,  too, 

Upon  his  way  to  the  library,  thro' 

Perhaps  losing  his  way,  or  perhaps  by  the  glare, 

Or  perhaps  it  was  only  because  aware 

Of  brilliance  and  gaiety  hid  from  sight 

Behind  the  curtains,  he  felt  that  night 

A  little  curiosity — when 

He  was  harshly  told  by  the  butler  that  "  men 

Only  sit  up."      But  when,  bye  and  bye, 

He  saw  a  strange  lady  and  started  to  fly, 

He  found  himself  at  the  library  door, 

His  bare  feet  treading  upon  the  floor. 

78 


XIII 

Had  the  little  boy  sailed  over  distant  seas 

In  magic  ships  unto  far  countries, 

And  seen  the  myriad  sights  of  the  world, 

No  more  of  wonderment  could  be  held 

Within  the  large  of  his  eyes  sky  shade, 

Than  the   lights  and  the  music  that  night  had 

made. 

But  soon  he  found  by  the  bookcase  old 
The  book  where  the  goblin  tale  was  told. 
Then    someone   came   through    the    door — his 

mother — 
And     someone      with     her — not     father — nor 

brother — 

And  they  stopped,  and  their  voice  had  a  tremu 
lous  tone  ; 

For  you  know,  they  thought  themselves  alone. 
But  the  little  boy,  buried  within  his  book, 
Had  a  chance  when  he  heard  the  train  rustle  to 

look. 

And  then  it  was,  after  a  moment  of  fright, 
He  thought   he   would  have  an  adventure  that 

night. 

So  the  little  boy  came  by  the  corner  to  peek, 
When  he  saw  something  fall  on  the  pink  of  her 

cheek, 

79 


And  then,  growing  bolder,  he  went  all  the  way 

To  the  table,  as  fearless  as  if  it  were  day. 

But  a  mouse,  or  something  strange,  that  he  saw 

Made  him  quickly  again  withdraw, 

And  he  waited  breathless  behind  the  case 

Till  a  wicked  book  fell  with  a  thud  from  its  place. 

XIV 

And  then — how  is  it  that  born  within 

A  woman's  breast  nor  sorrow,  nor  sin, 

Nor  petty  life,  nor  selfish  thought 

Can  kill  the  motherhood  instinct  wrought 

By  the  Creator  ?      But  ever  there, 

Sometime  or  other,  its  wings  will  stir, 

And  bear  the  feeling  over  the  soul 

That  makes  a  womanhood  great  and  whole  ! 

And  how  was  it  that  the  little  boy  lay 

On  her  arm,  as  he  had  not  for  many  a  day, 

And  good  night  fell  from  her  lips  unaware 

To  the  someone  gazing  with  love  at  her  ? 


XV 

The  little  boy  grew  and  he  went  to  school, 
And  found  in  his  heart  that  the  measured  rule 

80 


Of  hour  and  moment  and  lesson  and  strife 
(Tho'  he  hated  the  work)  was  the  substance 

of  life. 

His  clever  mind  grew,  as  with  all  little  boys, 
To  express  the  usual  sorrows  and  joys — 
But  perhaps  a  little  more  keenly ;  for  he 
Had  seen  as  a  child  more  than  others  could  see. 
While   the  woman    who    dreaded    motherhood 

smiled, 
Now  and  then,  from  a  true-hearted  pride  in  her 

child. 


81 


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